"I hope to have the opportunity, at least," said Apache, grimly, "to satisfy your curiosity." "Look up! Here they come again," the sheriff interjected. There was another crackle to and fro, a quick pattering of hoofs and flying of tails. One bullet zipped on a granite block in front of me and spattered the splinters in my face. The five wheeled and gathered; one of the fallen men crawled away and lay down in the shadow of a rock to look on at the fight, with a sick face. "They do look like as they were gatherin’ again systematic. Pity about that there mud-slide comin’ so sudden," remarked the sheriff again, as though talking to himself more than to us; and then again he cried: "Lookup!" Down came the five then, bent in their saddles, their right hands in air, apparently determined to make a supreme effort. They were going to try the effect of a dash past, with dropping shots as they came. But at a word from one they wheeled, rode back a distance, and then, spinning round, rode back as you have seen fellows preparing for a running start in a race, wheeled, and then came down in a scatter of dust, and a cry of "Yah! Yah!" to their horses. Next moment they were past—four of them. "If them four fellows come again," said the Indian, "my name Dennis." I wondered how Apache Kid could titter at this remark. I thought perhaps that it was half excitement that caused the laugh. It was not that exactly, however. It was something else. "As you remarked," said he to the sheriff, "it’s a pity about that mud-slide," and he swung his revolver to and fro in a limp hand. "Don’t drop that gun o’ yours," said the sheriff in anxiety. "Don’t you give the show plumb away. By Jimminy! they are meditatin’ another. Say! Guess I ’ll palaver again some." He leaped to his feet and waved the palm of his hand toward the four and then set it to the side of his mouth like a speaking-trumpet. "I tell yous," he cried, "I ’m not a bloody man. I’m ag’in blood. That’s why I give you this last reminder that you ’re kickin’ ag’in the law and I advise you to take warnin’ from what you got already. If I was n’t ag’in blood, I would n’t talk at all." Apache Kid tittered again. "You need n’t just tell them it’s your own blood you are thinking of, Sheriff." "No!" said the sheriff, with a queer, flat look about his face—I don’t know how else to describe it—"I ’ve said enough, I reckon. If I seem anxious to spare ’em and warn ’em off some more, they might be liable to tumble to it that we ’ve put up our last fight, eh?" And he gave a grim, mirthless laugh.